Halo
by Kaslyna
Summary: Post-6B. Smut. :D Of course.    "Am I glowing?" "No." She can't see the too familiar halo that surrounds him like a shield and then she realizes that she's really not afraid anymore. She's happy just the way things are. So why not strive for more?


**A/N: Follow-up to 6B. Probably a oneshot. ;) Spoilers of course mostly for 6B but all of Fringe, too. :P Am in love now. ^^ Thank you God. :D**

**Disclaimer: I own zilch. Damn. :/**

"Am I glowing?" he's trying not to be afraid but he is, because if he's glowing, then they don't have a chance because he knows Olivia will run.

She was smiling now as she shook her head and whispered, "No."

Olivia made the decision impulsively, though it wasn't really an impulse, because she knew that this could happen if she came over here tonight. That Walter was in New York just cemented the idea. She left him, only to reach back for his hand. Peter willingly gave her it; he'd let her lead, for now. She tugged him impatiently up the stairs, tired of waiting for him. Olivia was sick of not being able to trust him; she needed him, all of him, and she needed him _now_.

They reached his room, and he closed the door behind them. Shoes and Olivia's coat and scarf were shucked quickly; socks followed. Olivia leaned up and kissed him sweetly, but urgently, with every fiber of her being. He felt like he'd been shocked; everywhere they were connected, even through fabric, he could feel the electricity racing. He'd never felt this way before.

Her arms twined around his neck; she'd somehow managed to push him against the bedroom door and he wrapped his arms tightly around her, pulling her as close as he possibly could to him. Her tongue came out and swiped across his lips; with a groan he gave her access to him. Her tongue plunged into his mouth, running along his teeth. She relished the sounds he was giving her; it made her feel prideful that she was the one to make him weak with desire.

He spun them quickly and she gasped. He lifted off her shirt and smirked a little at her. She narrowed her eyes at him and ripped off his sweater. He was in his undershirt now, and he lifted her up so Olivia could wrap her legs around his waist. She was light, he realized sadly. She grunted and he chuckled, letting her down. Then, smirking, she walked backwards, until she sat on his bed. Then she waited.

He followed her, slowly leaning over her on the small frame of his bed. He cupped her face in his hands and sweetly, tenderly descended his lips upon hers, their kiss languid and tranquil. She sighed, eyes closed, a small smile on her perfect face.

She was beautiful, he realized, only the light of the moon to illuminate her, the gentle breeze from the window cracked open slightly making the fine gold hairs of her body sway lazily. She was exquisite; she was an ethereal and slightly tragic creature thrust from the loins of heaven; Olivia was an angel, and Peter realized sadly that she didn't even seem to know it.

"What?" she asked, voice husky and breathless, "Peter? What is it?"

"Nothing," he murmured, shaking his head and smiling, "You're just so beautiful, Olivia."

"Really?" she flirted, though her voice betrayed a note of surprise and happiness at his words, "Well, then, why don't you prove it?"

"I will," he replied absently, "But I'd like to take my time with you, Olivia..."

To his surprise, she nodded and whispered, "Okay."

He stroked her cheek; she sighed and leaned into his hand. Olivia whimpered when he withdrew his hand, only to find him fiddling lethargically with the clasp of her bra. He watched as her breasts released themselves; slowly he pulled off the scrap of black fabric, throwing it on the floor. She was so beautiful it took his breath away.

He lay on his side next to her, watching her reaction as one thumb swept across her nipple, his tongue teasing the other. Her nipples hardened and she shuddered. The mounds of flesh were glistening with sweat and his saliva. He carefully rolled on top of her then, lavishing her entire torso with kisses and caresses. His tongue swirled in her belly button until she whimpered again in need. Her hands fisted tufts of his hair as she pulled him up and kissed him fiercely, with every ounce of her being.

"_Need_ you," she growled breathlessly, "Now."

With a wicked grin, he teasingly pulled off her pants and panties in one swift motion. Then he sat back, lifted the shirt off his head, and let her undo his belt buckle. Soon his pants joined the growing pile and he hovered over her naked body in only his boxers. Her hands ran over the planes of his chest and she smirked up at him. Then he rolled off her and she whimpered in protest. He wanted, needed, to see her while he did this; he needed to see every inch of her.

Peter gently slid two fingers inside of her wet heat. Olivia gasped, arching up, olive eyes rolling back into her head a little at the sudden penetration. He smirked, waiting a moment for Olivia to adjust before he began curling and thrusting his fingers within her. A moan, then her breathing increased heavily; she writhed and he remembered one of their first cases together. Only now it was different; now it was really her, really his Olivia, and he loved her so much. He swiped his thumb over her clit and pinched. She gasped and he knew she was close. Still, he didn't want her to let go-not yet. He removed his fingers, slid off his boxers, and positioned himself above her.

"Peter," she whispered and he stroked a hand lovingly along her cheek.

"I'm here," he promised, "Are you sure about this, Olivia?"

She nodded, tears brimming in her eyes, "I've never been this sure about anything else."

"Condom?" he asked.

Olivia bit her lower lip and shook her head with a small smile, "Pill. We'll be fine."

"Okay," he replied.

He slid into her, inch by addicting inch, and she sighed. He closed his eyes, took a moment to adjust. She was bliss, pure and simple; she was sweet and intoxicating, and he was surrounded by her, by Olivia. By the one woman who'd he would risk death for. He began to move; his pace was gentle and slow, though he'd never intended it to be that way. He pulled almost all the way out, till she whimpered with need, before thrusting in. He was fully buried within her and her legs had coiled tightly around his waist, nails running lightly up and down his back.

They rocked together, hips creating a thrusting rhythm that they seemed to know without speaking. The only sound that filled the room was their moans, grunts, gasps, the bed springs creaking, and the slick sweat of two bodies coming together over and over again in consummation. It was beautiful; there was no need for words. Their eyes and motions said more than enough.

His thumb slid between them, and with a feral cry, she clenched on him, pulling him crashing blindly over the edge with her. She trembled beneath him with a sigh. He lay on top of her for a moment before rolling off and pulling her with him; it was a small bed and she had no choice but to comply.

Olivia threw her leg over Peter's; she was on her stomach, and he on his back. He was rubbing up and down her back, his chin on her head. She was whispering something into his shoulder. With a start, he realized what it was as hot tears rained on his skin.

"Don't leave me, please don't go," she was whispering over and over as she cried, a secret mantra.

"I'm here, Olivia," he told her, tilting her chin so she could see the seriousness in his eyes, "I'm here and I'll never leave you. I'll never let you go. I swear it, Olivia. Hush, don't cry now..."

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"Don't be," he whispered, "You're human, Olivia. I'm honored you feel okay crying in front of me."

"I'm happy," she sighed, "I'm so happy, Peter. I'm not scared anymore... it's just been so long since I really felt safe." _And loved_, added her subconscious helpfully.

"It's okay," he murmured, stroking her cheek and kissing her forehead, "Stay with me?"

She nodded, "Okay."

They fell asleep quickly, exhausted, a battle fought and won.

* * *

It was quiet when he got in. He called his son's name, but there was no reply. He padded into the kitchen for some milk to help him calm down and saw two glasses. He frowned a little at this; he'd seen this brand of whiskey before, but he couldn't recall it. Dread settled in his stomach; had his son gone trolling for women? He recalls the one time Elizabeth had visited him, four months before committing suicide, she had complained that Peter trolled bars too much. Had his son been at it again? Only one way to find out, he concluded, though he hated to interrupt anything.

He crept up the stairs and silently opened the door, thanking God that it didn't creak and wake Peter. There were clothes strewn across the floor; female clothes, too. He looked and saw in the tiny bed his son, asleep, gold hair fanned across his chest, and he looked harder at the clothes, recognizing a jacket and now knowing where the whiskey was from. He reddened, leaving as quickly as he could without waking up his son or Olivia.

He padded downstairs, tail tucked between his legs. He'd have to talk to them later. He wondered if they'd remembered protection...

* * *

Morning dawned slowly, and Olivia stretched, knowing exactly where she was and how she got there. She smiled into Peter's shoulder, content with just resting like this with him. For the first time since she could remember, Olivia had slept, really slept. His arms were loosely wrapped around her, holding her to his chest.

Olivia smirked, moving slowly to pepper a kiss to his chest. He stirred but didn't wake; Olivia lazily swirled her tongue around one nipple, than the other, teasingly avoiding arousing him too much. Still, she felt him come to life beneath her thigh and was encouraged to tease him further. She slid her hands down until she felt the hard firmness of his precious flesh in her hands. Her fingers danced lightly around his skin, avoiding the parts of him that he unconsciously yearned for her to touch. It was then that his eyes opened and he became aware of Olivia stroking him.

"Morning," he murmured, voice husky.

"Morning," she replied cheerfully, like it was everyday that he woke to her giving him a hand-job.

He gently pulled her up so he could kiss her, her face cupped in his hands. She smiled, eyes closed, happy to be in bed with him. He placed his hands on her hips, guiding her urgently to take him into her. She complied happily, sinking onto him and doing a figure eight. Olivia flipped her hair back and grinned wickedly at him, letting him finger her nipples.

It was quicker this time, both tumbling into ecstasy at the same time. Olivia collapsed on his chest panting and he kissed her temple, preparing to move away.

"Why don't we shower then eat? In case Walter's back. He probably knows because we left the whiskey out, but... let's not go to breakfast smelling like sex, okay?" Peter suggested.

Olivia nodded, smirking, "Fine. But no guarantees on hot against the wall shower sex, Peter."

He chuckled, rolled his eyes, "I wasn't asking."

"_Suuure_ you weren't," she laughed, "Come on. Let's go. Maybe you'll get lucky."

With that, Olivia rolled off him, got up, smirked, winked, and, pulling the sheet with her (she didn't want to give too much of a show) made her way to the bathroom. It took a moment for Peter's brain to comprehend her words (all the blood had sometime flowed south again) and then he blinked and ran after her.

She was already done using the toilet; she wordlessly stepped out so he could use it before reentering and slowly letting the sheet flutter in the breeze and pool at her feet. She was still looking at him from her peripheral as she started up the shower, intentionally setting it to be warm, but not burning.

Olivia stepped in and Peter followed her. He wordlessly took the body wash, lathered it in his hands, and began to massage her shoulders, neck, and back. She moaned and sighed, leaning back into him, in pure bliss.

His hands found their way to her front, teasingly washing her stomach and other areas before she could stand no more and took his hands, pressing them into her breasts. He complied with a smirk, massaging her breasts; they were the perfect size. Olivia's nipples pebbled and under the glistening water and the soap cascading from Peter's hands they shone like twin pearls.

He tweaked her nipples before using one hand to massage both, alternating, and letting the other find the slit between her legs, petting and caressing the most intimate parts of Olivia's body. Peter was in heaven; if he were to die then and there, he'd die a happy man.

She quivered and mewled, her voice hoarse as she whispered, "Peter, please..."

More than happy to oblige, he spun her around and swiftly pinned her to the wall of the small shower. She sighed happily, relieved that he would give her the release she so craved and needed from him without a second thought about it. Her legs wrapped around his waist the instant he plunged into her. Her head fell back with a soft whimper.

He moved slowly, pulling almost all of the way out before thrusting in again. He repeated this over and over, swiped his thumb over her clit, and finally, finally, she came screaming his name; he followed a few thrusts later.

After, they rewashed themselves and did their hair; once done, Olivia left and redressed. Peter soon followed her out, gave her a quick kiss, and dressed for the day. He kissed her again, resting his forehead against hers, both smiling happily.

"Ready for the walk of shame?" he asked.

She laughed, "As I'll ever be."

Olivia smiled shyly, took his hand in hers, kissed him sweetly, "I'm happy, Peter."

"I know," he smiled, "I'm happy, too."

"Come on, let's go," she was laughing now, tugging him out of his bedroom.

They went downstairs, knowing that Walter would see them; even still, unless Olivia wanted to climb out his bedroom window, they both knew it was inevitable. Either way, they both couldn't shake the feeling of being teenagers all over again, sneaking out and hoping not to be caught because the shame would be too much. Still, it wasn't shame; they knew Walter would be too excited about this news and that made them both extremely nervous.

Sure enough, Walter was humming along to his record player, cooking what smelled like pancakes, though with Walter, you could never be certain. They shared a look; by silent agreement, Olivia went with Peter to the kitchen.

"Agent Dunham!" he crowed, "It is lovely to see you this morning. Did you just get here?"

Peter and Olivia shared a brief smile and she shook her head, "No."

"Oh?" Walter quirked an eyebrow, a grin forming across his face, "Well, then, when did you get in, Olivia?"

By unspoken agreement Peter answered for her, "Late last night."

If possible, Walter's grin grew at least four times, "Really, now? Why would you do that, Olivia?"

"Walter..." warned Peter.

Olivia laughed, "It's fine, Peter. I wanted to talk with Peter, I guess."

"Well," he clapped, satisfied, "Are you hungry? I would imagine after your activities last night and this morning you would be extremely so..."

Olivia had stiffened and gone beet red and Peter said, "Walter, don't..."

"Your bed is too small for those sorts of things, Peter," he chided, "And let Agent Dunham eat before you go for another round!"

"Olivia," Peter addressed her, ignoring his father, "Want to go out for breakfast on the way to the office?"

She nodded, grateful, "Yeah."

Peter placed a hand on the small of Olivia's back, shooting a warning glare at Walter, who was still grinning happily. An idea formed and he watched until they were both almost at the door before putting it into action.

"Peter! Olivia!" he hollered, causing them to turn.

"Yes, Walter?" sighed an exasperated Peter.

"Did you use protection? Even still, you do know condoms aren't _always_ one-hundred percent..."

"We're leaving!" announced Peter, steering Olivia out the door, both blushing furiously.

_Mission accomplished_, thought Walter with a wry, slightly voyeuristic grin on his face.

_Cupid, indeed!_


End file.
